Kiss Me Hard Before You Go
by themuller
Summary: Bond has left and Q's world breaks apart. - Spectre Fix it. Written for the 00Q Reverse Big Bang (00qreversebang on tumblr) and written for the artwork by Danger Zone24 on archiveofourown. Visit my archiveofourown account to see the artwork. It's gorgeous!
1. and he was gone

Somehow Q managed to continue working after Bond had driven off with the reconstructed Aston Martin, a smug Madeleine at his side. Q had made it through the day, the few people working at the time being all too busy to pay attention to his subdued mood. He even put in the extra hours like he had done since the Skyfall incident, keeping up the appearance of normalcy for anyone around. The way home was blessedly uneventful; the Tube almost empty by that time of the night. He silently opened and closed the front door, lest he would be rousing his landlady who was as nosy as they came. Quietly he made it up the stairs letting out a small sigh of relief once the door to his flat was closed and locked for good measure. The cats greeted him with less enthusiasm these days, Mrs Turner being the main food provider since Q had barely been at home for more than sleeping and a change of clothes for the past months, sometimes staying away for several days and nights in a row.

No, not even the cats felt the need to sympathise with Q. Taking off his clothes and shoes, he walked to the small kitchen and put the kettle on. Leaning against the kitchen table, he tried to recap the past few days. The final explosion, blasting the ruins of the former MI6 headquarters to smithereens, Bond's standoff with Blofeld, and finally, Bond leaving MI6, choosing Madeleine over everything Q had thought meant something to Bond.

The kettle clicked and Q poured the boiling hot water over the teabag in his mug. The cats had returned and were weaving through his legs, seeking attention. But Q did not heed them. He was lost in his thoughts, processing information. Something was eluding his consciousness, like an itch that was just out of reach. Something... Bond had said? Or had done? Q frowned, carefully sipping the hot tea.

For the past weeks, Q had worked closely with Bond. Closer than ever before. Bond had shown how much he believed in Q's abilities — not only to Q himself, but to M and the rest of MI6. Q had secretly bathed in the praise. Now, he was not so sure if that was everything to it. Had Bond tried to tell him something? Hinting at some kind of secret plot behind the plot?

If there even was a plot.

With a sigh, Q shook his head, willing himself to stop overthinking everything. Bond's sudden departure had been a surprise to everyone at MI6. Q's own crush on Bond had been straining in the past with Q knowing full well he would never have the courage or madness to act on it. The last weeks had been especially painful, watching Bond with Madeleine — hacking into Nine Eyes had kept Q focussed on what needed to be done. It had kept him on his feet, determined to save MI6, England, the World.

But now, being alone in his small flat, the only company being his cats, the thought of never seeing Bond ever again — it was too much. Q's legs gave way and he dropped his mug, tea spilling all over the worn carpet. The cats were leaving in a pretend dignified manner, not wanting to acknowledge their keeper's startling behaviour.

Q pulled his knees up against his chest, burying his face in his hands. Bond had left. For real this time. Left Q, left MI6 behind. Left with a woman he barely knew, who had deserted him and his cause mere hours before Bond had put his own life in danger to rescue her from certain death. This time, Bond had left for good.

The tears were unbidden, but inevitable. Q lost his fight against frayed nerves, fatigue so bone-deep he didn't even know if he would be able to make it to bed tonight.


	2. Returning once

Q had thrown himself into work, now even more than before. Tanner was the only one who seemed to notice something was off. On several occasions he tried to strike a conversation, going as far as serving Q his beloved Earl Grey tea. A small smile and polite but bland replies were all he got for his troubles. After a few days, Tanner's attention was drawn to other matters and Q felt some kind of hollow satisfaction, being once again alone with his tinkering and gadgets. Q-branch had to be rebuilt from the very bottom and Q had to find the right people filling the void after C had torn down every bit of Q's organisation. It would take time and Q needed time. Time to once again reach that fragile balance between repressed needs and satisfaction found in his work; staying on his feet until exhaustion drove him home to an uneasy sleep.

As the days went by, Q regained some of his composure. He began to plan for the recruitment of his new minions. Some would come from other parts of MI6, but most would have to be found outside of the organisation; a tedious process of vetting and security protocols. Stuff which had to be implemented before any new employee was to set foot in the halls of Q-branch.

Almost two weeks had gone by since the day Bond went away. Q heaved a deep sigh, once more looking through an application, taking a few notes. He was about to get up and make a fresh cup of tea when he heard the faint ping of one of his mobiles. With a frown he started to sort through a pile of papers, then looked through the top drawer, before returning to the pile of papers on the desk. Surprised, he eventually found the mobile he had used to track Bond by the smart-blood outside of Q-branch. He looked at the screen.

 _One new message._

Swiping it open single-handedly, while finding a charger with the other, Q's frown deepened.

 _Turn me on._

And a time, date, and place.

"You bloody bastard," Q muttered under his breath.

He turned to his computer and started the smart-blood program. Bond was still the only one with the nanotechnology flowing through his veins. Since the disaster with Nine Eyes, MI6 had expressed severe doubts about any kind of tracking technology used on its agents.

The computer screen showed a rural area in the north of England, a red dot blinking in the middle of nowhere. Zooming in, Q could make out a small village, the red dot hovering over a large building just on the outskirts of the village. Before he could stop himself, he reached for the screen and his finger touched the blinking dot softly.

"Bond," he whispered.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. As much as Q wanted to leave right away, buzzing with anticipation and dread, he had become an expert in hiding his emotions at work. As mind-numbing as he found paperwork, reading through the application forms of wannabe minions at Q-branch kept him fully occupied.

Q had recognised the address. It was a gay club right across Lambeth Bridge. A place Q had visited a few times before he got recruited by MI6. He briefly wondered if Bond knew about his — predicament, as he preferred to call it. Being gay was problematic no matter where he had worked in the past, but when he had started at the agency the threat of blackmail or worse amplified. Moreover the macho culture among his agents didn't help Q's insecurities. Was Bond mocking him by having them meeting up in the club? Was it his way of telling him off for good? Q briefly considered not going. In the end, he had to admit to himself that he would never pass any chance to meet Bond. If he wanted to ridicule him, well, Q would survive as he had survived school and university.

Q prepared for the meeting with Bond as meticulously as possible. Skinny jeans, torn all the right places, glasses replaced with hip ones as contacts just didn't work for him, leather jacket and hair tousled artfully. Or what Q thought might pass as artful, having the cats playing with it, before he had been able to extract himself from the sofa. The feeling of dread had returned full force. The what-ifs were piling up, doubling in number every time he had dispelled one of them. Gnashing his teeth, Q forced himself through the final steps until he was ready to leave. He knew he was turning this into something it most definitely wasn't. Bond just needed his help with something mundane — something like forging a birth certificate or erasing a bunch of speeding tickets. And the club was just for the fun of it. It was not a hidden clue for Bond's undying love for Q. The club was a way to avoid prying eyes or having people wondering about two men talking intimately with each other. Then again, Bond could have chosen a business meeting as the setting or a coincidental meeting on a park bench.

 _Stop it_ , Q muttered. _Stop fretting and get a move on._

He snuck out of the house, making sure to avoid his landlady. He drew glances from the right kind of guys, even got the odd invitation from a few of them. Nervously declining the first, he became bolder as he neared his destination. He even went for a few flirtatious exchanges before he entered the club. The place was exactly how he remembered it. Loud music setting the beat, sweaty, half-dressed men on the dance floor. He fought his way through the moving and grinding bodies, towards the bar, away from grabby hands, kisses blown his way. Lightheaded, he relished the attention. It took him back to the years of discovery and revelation, experimenting with his sexuality in a place that felt safe and inclusive. He knew about the drugs, about unsafe sex, psychopathic doms and irresponsible subs. But he had been lucky or just conscientious, avoiding the worst pitfalls and somehow always ended up in the warm and comforting embrace of caring men, even if it just was a one night stand. He never managed to get into a relationship. And later it became too dangerous; for him, for the men he slept with; too dangerous to let anyone into his life.

Q had almost forgotten the reason for him being here. That was until he saw the well-remembered back of Bond, lounging at the bar, emanating luxurious comfort and a certain kind of boredom. Q swallowed, feeling heat pooling in his groin. Slowly, he walked closer. Bond turned around, greeting Q with a small smile and an appreciative nod, his predatory gaze assessing Q hungrily. Defiantly, Q lifted his chin. Challenging. He was not going to play the inexperienced virgin or the acquiescent sub. He never did.

Bond's surprise turned into a pleased smile, which Q returned. Q sat down beside Bond at the bar, letting him pick his drink. They drank in silence, every now and then casting a glance at the other amid people-watching. When they had finished their drinks, Bond bent over and whispered into Q's ear, receiving an affirmative nod. He paid up and led Q out of the club, receiving longing glances on his way.

The hand on the small of his back had Q squirming, his anxiety returning. They were both playing roles; Bond the wealthy old man wanting for some fun for the night; Q the young twink ready to provide the said fun, maybe earning a little something on the side. Yet, as much as he was aware of this being a game, his fantasy was running wild. Bond did not say a word as they left the club, only pulling Q closer to his side, holding him tight while he walked purposefully towards a hotel further down the road. Q let him lead the way.

In the lobby, Bond was greeted by the night manager who looked between Bond and Q with a slight frown on his face. Q believed him to be judgemental, until the manager with a low voice asked Q if he was all right while looking daggers at Bond. When Q answered that everything was okay, Bond had a small smile on his face.

"Always on the lookout for damsels in distress, Jonathan?" Bond asked with a smirk.

"Jonathan Pine, the night manager," Bond turned towards Q introducing the two of them.

Jonathan did not answer right away.

"Well, Bond, he looks awfully young in this outfit — and he is way out of your league, if you ask me," Jonathan returned with a mischievous wink at Q who actually blushed.

"Oi, hands to yourself, mate!"

Bond kept up the playful banter between the two of them, while filling out the registration form.

"Your room is ready — and _clean_ ," Jonathan said when he gave the keys to Bond.

Q looked between them then shrugged. Whatever Bond had been planning, this Jonathan seemed to be on it. Q had never heard of the man. And this hotel was not on any list of safe places known to him. Then again, Bond had been in this game for so many years, Q wasn't in the least surprised to find connections and people, that had been left out of MI6's files.

Again, Bond placed a hand on Q's back, gently leading him towards the lift. Q was unsure as to carry on their charade or if these latest actions of Bond actually meant something. He stopped his mind in unfolding the possibilities before they both went into the enclosed, rather small space of the lift.

Bond kept silent, but held Q nonetheless close the whole way up. When they eventually entered the room, he checked the room thoroughly. Q was left standing at the door, fascinatedly watching Bond move silently around the room. When Bond's attention turned back at Q, the humorous mood was gone. He indicated the sofa and went to pour a scotch from the minibar for them.

When he returned with the two glasses, Q was looking expectantly at him. Bond sat down, leaving a few inches of space between them. He looked at his drink, turned it in his hand, before he spoke.

"I need your help, Q."

Bond looked at Q who stayed silent.

"Madeleine is the head of Spectre."

Q almost dropped the glass of whiskey, his eyebrows shot up and he mouthed a 'what'. He refrained from pinching himself, but he scrutinised the liquid in his glass before he looked back up at Bond beckoning him to continue. It all felt surreal.

Bond told him how Madeleine in fact had been the leader for some time now, hidden in the shadows. She seemed to honestly believe that she could turn the organisation into some kind of charity, using assassinations and blackmail for doing good. Q met his tale with a wry smile.

"There is a tyranny in the womb of every Utopia."

He had whispered the quote. Surprised, Bond paused abruptly.

"I do need your help, Q. I don't know who else I can trust. Nine Eyes has been destroyed, but I know Spectre has people still working in MI6. That's why I —" He waved at the room at large then indicating the two of them. "Best bet not to be recognised. Jonathan keeps an eye out."

They both fell silent. Q was trying to process the information, again looking at the amber fluid in his glass. He couldn't help the deeply-felt sigh from escaping him. Just as he had feared. It was a game, nothing else. Not that Bond's disclosure didn't warrant a charade like this. But deep down, Q had hoped—

Bond closed the gap between them. When Q looked up from his glass, a bit disoriented by Bond's sudden proximity, Bond leaned forward and kissed him, gently, probing. Q tensed, his mind turning into a void filled with white noise. Frowning, Bond backed away.

"Q, I'm sorry. I thought —"

Q pounced before Bond could finish the sentence. Pushing him back against the sofa, he straddled him and attacked Bond's mouth with a vengeance. Bond let him have his way, his own mouth opening in a wide smile. His arms gathered Q closer, his fingers finding their way into unruly hair. There was no finesse, no subtle teasing or gentle nudging. Months of repressed emotions were throbbing through Q's body; with the desperation of a drowning man he took what was offered so freely to him. When Bond calmly but firmly pushed Q back, small needy sounds filled the room between them. Bond's eyes were blown black; he blinked several times to be able to focus again.

Q's eyes were seeking Bond's, his renewed despair and anxiousness all too obvious. Bond's grip was anchoring, secure. Q felt safe, despite the loss of contact and the need for closeness.

Bond seemed to contemplate Q, the situation. He drew a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he finally made up his mind.

"Q," the serious tone in Bond's voice had Q squirming, "I want you. I want to be with you — but not like this."

Q turned away. He couldn't deal with this. The tender touch of Bond's fingers on his chin turned him back to face Bond.

"No, Q. It's not like that."

The serious tone had Q listening, not knowing what to expect next.

"I need to focus on Madeleine. And I don't want this to be a one night stand."

Bond fell silent and Q wondered if he had heard right. The white noise in his head turned back on and he couldn't find words. This time though Bond understood. The lopsided grin and exasperating smugness was back and Q's response was an embarrassing 'ugh'. Bond caressed Q's face, tracing an errant tear over his cheekbone. Grounding Q, who nuzzled into the touch. They stayed like this for a little while. Then, Q could feel Bond becoming restless.

"I need to go. Can't have Madeleine become suspicious."

He pulled Q back into a tight embrace before Bond found a small USB stick in one of his pockets.

"Here is everything I've been able to retrieve from Spectre's system so far."

Q took the stick and looked at Bond.

"I'll have to go — be back at the club next week at the same time, okay?"

Q rose from the sofa when Bond turned to go.

"Kiss me," Q said, "please."

Bond stopped and hesitated before he turned around and went back to Q. This time, the kiss was gentle at first, slowly becoming deeper, tongues seeking to lick, touch, and taste. Reluctantly, Bond drew back and took one last drawn out look at Q's flushed face.

"Next week," he mumbled and left.


	3. twice

Q returned to MI6 the following Monday after a weekend spent deciphering the content of the USB stick. Only Moneypenny wondered briefly about the quartermaster's apparent mood change and since it obviously was for the better she left it at that. When Tanner two days later came by Q-branch, bearing the gift of a nice cup of Earl Grey together with his ever present paperwork, he was met with a deep frown which turned into a sincere smile, once Q had pushed a few keys on his laptop and turned on a screensaver.

Q stretched his arms and back before he turned and took the offered cup. It was in the middle of the night and Q couldn't remember when he last had taken a break.

"Thank you," he said with a sigh before he took a sip. "Perfect."

"M wanted a status report on your work with Nine Eyes, and he said something about missing documentation for the final reports on Spectre," Tanner explained.

Q's smile faltered a bit.

"Here I thought you wanted to make small talk," he said with a put-upon pout.

"I'm sorry, it's just —," Tanner stopped, fidgeting with his papers. "The hearings were postponed, and we hoped with the Nine Eye debacle and everything —"

He fell silent again and looked down at his shoes, shifting a bit.

"M had hoped that," Tanner cleared his throat. "He hopes you were able to save some of the information and codes that had caused the security breaches for C to take advantage of in the first place."

He looked around the clutter and empty desks that made up Q-branch these days.

"You are rather lonely down here, aren't you?"

Q looked about the place.

"It has its advantages," he answered with a small twitch of his mouth.

"I'm currently trying out a new security system, alerting me of any intruders or" Q gave Tanner a pointed look "listening devices."

Tanner contemplated the situation for a moment.

"M has new information on Spectre — and someone or several someones in the government are apparently trying to rebuild the organisation."

Somehow, Q managed the look of surprise and disbelief.

"How?"

"M doesn't know and we aren't sure."

Tanner talked fast now.

"As it is, M only trusts Moneypenny, you, me —"

A meaningful pause, for which Q wanted to add _and Bond_. Tanner just gave a small nod to the unspoken words.

"We have no idea who else could be involved. Some of the people working for Spectre might not even be aware of who is giving their orders."

Q took some more of his tea. It was a ridiculous situation, but he couldn't disclose his own knowledge at this point. He needed time to figure out who was to be trusted. Tanner hadn't mentioned Bond and Q was not going to do so.

"What do you need from me?"

"Any information you can gather from Spectre's old servers and whatever else is still available from the Nine Eyes project. At this point, anything might help. We have no idea what we're up against."

Tanner looked utterly helpless and Q had to bite his tongue. As it were, he could show some information Bond had gathered for him without giving him away. He had extracted some of the encrypted files as well as put together several of the pieces of the intel MI6 had recovered before everything went down the drain.

"Do you have anything I could start out with?" Q asked trying to look innocent.

Tanner quirked an eyebrow but let it pass when Q began putting away some of the gadgets from his desk. Projects could wait for another time. As could the application forms. No need for a nosy assistant snooping around for the time being. It was a relief when he realised that he could work on this particular project for now, helping Bond and M at the same time. The whole process of rebuilding Q-branch could be used as an excuse for him not working on any new projects officially.

Tanner looked around Q-branch once more, before he pulled out a USB stick from one of his pockets.

"This is everything M could retrieve from government files and the hearing so far. He believes Olivia had something up her sleeve if the hearing had become threatening to MI6's continued existence — but we haven't been able to find any secret-hiding places yet."

One more thing to look for and ask Bond about. Surely, he had to be the most trusted of old M's minions. If something had survived the blast and subsequent destruction by C, she would have been able to hide it away.

With renewed vigour Q put the stick into the computer and opened the files. Tanner excused himself without getting a reply from Q, who was already immersed in the information unfolding in front of him. Data, words, sentences evolved from unrecognisable strings of numbers and letters. It was an arduous process with setbacks, detours and blind ends. Slowly, patterns emerged and became tangible, workable, spreading out and opening up.

Q stayed at MI6 until the weekend, only taking breaks for a nap, a cup of tea, or some food. Tanner came by twice. Q's computer screen would be blank except for some cute cat gifs while Q himself would be looking through yet another application, until Q had made sure Tanner was on his own. That was when Q updated the Chief of staff. Still, Q was unable to give Tanner any real news. The bigger picture eluded him. Q had a few larger pieces of the puzzle, but nothing useful for M yet.

Q kept Madeleine's role in this mess to himself for now. Trusting Tanner and M was one thing, but Q had to be sure they wouldn't go after Bond once he explained about Spectre's true leader.

Finally, on his way home to prepare for his meeting with Bond, his mind was still trying to make sense of all the input. As Tanner had said, something vital was missing. Q had been able to plot out most of Spectre's old organisations as well as a few existing contacts from within MI6. Bond had told him that Madeleine was the current head of Spectre, maybe even since C and Nine Eyes. It would explain why Blofeld tried to kill her and why he was left alone afterwards. The heavy security measures MI6 applied right after Blofeld's incarceration had been replaced by customary guards. No efforts had been made to free him. Not even a high profile lawyer had been available to him. Q had been surprised by this, but had thought nothing of it back then. Like everyone else he had assumed that Spectre simply had been destroyed and Blofeld had been the only one left.

Lost in thoughts, Q made it to the club. Without sparing a glance at the dancing men, he went straight for the bar.

"Did she give you anything?" Q asked without preamble, frowning at the drink Bond placed in his hand.

Tanner's comment about the old M leaving something behind to save MI6 had been on his mind for the past days.

"I presume you're talking about Olivia," Bond asked grinning.

"Tanner came to me."

Bond tensed visibly. Confused, Q looked directly at him for the first time that evening.

"You told him?" Bond asked, now looking for the nearest exit.

"Told him? Of course not!"

Rolling his eyes, Q tsked at Bond.

"But M suspects Spectre is still active."

Q took a sip from his drink and made a face.

"What is this stuff?" Disgusted he shook his head.

"Anyway," he continued, annoyed. "Tanner mentioned M, Olivia, had some kind of information or knowledge which could be used if MI6 got into trouble."

Q eyed the drink warily. Bond had regained his composure, even as his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"The only thing she left behind was that blasted bulldog."

"A dog?" Q pushed the drink away from him. He must have misheard or this stuff really was lethal. No way, old M had a dog.

"A small, ugly figurine in the form of a bulldog with the Union Jack painted on. Jack the Bulldog. Of course the only bloody thing that survived the first explosion back then."

Bond explained while he savoured his drink with a pointed look at Q, his mouth twitching in silent amusement.

"You still have it?"

Bond nodded. He didn't do knick-knacks but as difficult as it was for him to admit, he couldn't bring himself to throw the distasteful thing out.

"It's in a store room."

"Let's fetch it."

Bond raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, Bond! This is the best we can do now," Q urged him on. "Or do you have anything new for me?"

"I need a few of your gadgets, Q. I hoped we could visit MI6 and then return to the hotel to, well," Bond shrugged. "But no, nothing new. I know something is up. Madeleine has been busy, but following her without you as my guide —" Bond shook his head. "It's just not the same."

Q looked disbelieving at Bond.

"It's not safe, Bond."

"You could get the stuff while I'm waiting. Then we could get that bulldog for you to play with."

Bond put on his most enigmatic smile. Q surrendered with a shake of his head, faking a disapproving look at Bond over the rim of his glasses. They left and Bond showed Q the way to a nearby parking lot.

There, half hidden in the shadows stood the Aston Martin. Q looked it over, unable to resist touching the shining bonnet. He had spent so many hours with this car, every little nook and cranny well known to him. With every little twist of a screw, every wire reattached to its rightful place, Q had been digging himself deeper into his infatuation for Bond; losing himself in daydreams and fantasies; the two of them driving through the English countryside; stopping at a secluded place where he would watch Bond divest both of them of their clothes, feeling callused fingers on his body, trailing naked skin — Q cleared his throat, drawing himself back to the present.

When he looked up, Bond met his eyes with an amused grin. Looking between the car and Q, Bond seemed to contemplate something. Q shook his head.

"Better get going, Bond. You tell me what you need and I'll fill you in on my findings while we drive."

Bond opened the car door for Q, who huffed and murmured something about _not being a_ _bloody damsel, you git_! Only enticing Bond to behave like the perfect gentleman in helping Q into the car and softly closing the door behind him. With an exasperated sigh Q put on his seat belt and crossed his arms, scowling at Bond when he sat down in the driver's seat. Unperturbed, Bond started the car and put it in gear.

It took almost two hours to collect various gadgets and get to the store room. Bond found the small figurine with no difficulty among his meagre belongings. He handed the bulldog to Q, who took it almost reverently. As was customary for these kinds of figurines, it was hollow and a prying finger didn't reveal anything. Q held it against the light, weight it, but nothing seemed forthcoming. They moved back to the car with Q deep in thoughts, his fingers ghosting along the ridges and curves of the bulldog.

"Shit!" Q stood frozen to the spot, staring at the thing in his hand.

Bond had stopped and turned towards him, watching intently for any signs of distress or danger.

"I know what she'd done," Q said and started running towards the car without further explanation.

A bit confused, Bond followed.

"Get me back to MI6. Now!"

Q didn't elaborate, just sat there, stroking the ceramic bulldog with closed eyes. Bond took the fastest route back, making sure they weren't followed or caught on CCTV, even if Q could probably erase any evidence of the latter. Bond parked the car a few streets away from the main building and looked expectantly at Q.

"Well?"

"Hm?" Q opened his eyes and looked around him. "Oh, yes. Thank you."

He was about to open the door and leave the car, when Bond held him back.

"Not so fast, young man," he said, amusement back in his voice. "What in the devil's name happened back at the store room? And how will I contact you?"

Q frowned, turning back towards Bond with a puzzled look on his face. It took a few moments before he seemed to realise what Bond was talking about.

"Uhm, sorry. I, well, I'll be on the comms. It's safe. At this hour, I'm the only one at the office. And I need to analyse this." He held up the bulldog.

Bond's only reaction was a look of incomprehension. Q rolled his eyes before he realised that Bond obviously couldn't know what was going on. He showed Bond the ceramic.

"It's the very first of my projects. I always thought, M — Olivia — was testing me. Never worked with this stuff again."

Bond shook his head with a small smile.

"Q, you're not making any sense. What is this?"

"This," Q let his finger trace over the painted Union Jack on the figurine. "This is paint made of nano chips. Each one is able to hold millions of data sets. Texts, photos, movies, anything you can digitise. It's a kind of hard drive."

He looked with utter fascination at the hideous thing in his hand.

"This is the prototype. Never worked with it again," he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Q continued to explain the details while Bond watched him closely. He was far more fascinated by this extraordinary man than by the gadget despite its potential. Q lit up whenever he had a chance to explain his inventions and ideas. His eyes became wide and bright, his stance proud, authoritative. Demanding. It tickled Bond in ways he had buried deep inside himself, even before Vesper. Only Tracy had gotten close enough, trusted enough for him to let go. He sat and listened, wondering if he could have it all again.

Q's voice faded when his attention turned back to Bond. Bond's interest in Q was unmistakable. Unconsciously, Bond licked his lips when Q met his eyes.

"Kiss me, Q," Bond whispered. "Hard."

Q's eyebrows shot up, before slowly moving closer.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Q held Bond's eyes, while his breath ghosted over Bond's lips.

Bond held still. His eyes were dilated, his breathing fast. Q took his time. With his free hand he trailed Bond's lips, let his fingers slip between them, feeling just the tip of the tongue. Their eyes were locked on each other, Q's pupils blown as much as Bond's. He grabbed Bond's neck and pulled him close. The kiss was fierce, lips parted and Q's tongue invaded Bond's mouth, exploring, taking. When he ended the kiss with a bite to Bond's lower lip, he just stopped himself from leaving a mark. Madeleine was probably suspicious already.

The thought of Madeleine was like a cold shower. He yanked back, leaving Bond breathless and utterly confused.

"What —"

"I'm sorry. Sorry, James, I —" Q leaned close again, softly touching Bond's cheek. "We need to get back to work. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep my hands to myself. And this," he waved the bulldog in his hand, "this will help us. But it will take some time before I can extract the information."

He looked determinedly at the appalling beast in his hand.

"That was the problem back then. Retrieving the nanoparticles and putting them back in order."

His voice trailed off again, his mind working on the problem, almost forgetting everything around him. Bond couldn't help the warmth spreading in his body, seeing Q like this. Lost in deep thought, still flushed from their kiss, Bond wanted nothing more than to let his hands slide through the black curls, feel their bodies move together, naked skin on skin.

 _Later_ , Bond thought. _Later_.


	4. and the third time for good

It would take five days of frantic deciphering before Q had anything useful for Bond. They didn't have time to meet up. Bond had been able to further deceive Madeleine into trusting him wholeheartedly and she would take him with her to the next gathering of Spectre.

Q was hanging on by a thread on the other end of the comms. Listening to Bond's beguiling of Madeleine was turning all of his insecurities back on. Forgotten were the kisses and gentle touches, the reassurances Bond had giving before they had parted.

But Q had a job to do, and no matter what, he wanted Bond back safe and sound. While he managed to keep things secret from M and even Moneypenny, Tanner started to suspect something was up when he saw the bulldog on Q's desk. His visits became more frequent, making it obvious for Q that Tanner was aware of him hiding something. However, Tanner didn't push and Q was grateful for the undemanding company. As much as he could immerse himself into a problem, he still liked to have people around him. Bustling and talking, a background noise that had been missing entirely for far too long from Q-branch.

As it turned out, the bulldog did indeed hold evidence which could be turned into a powerful weapon against several of the members of the hearing committee. Olivia had meticulously collected incriminating information and details on each member, including photos and videos. Perfect blackmail material. And M had no qualms in using it once Q presented his findings. By then, Q had no choice but to disclose Bond's implication and the true nature of the on-going mission. He had warned Bond about it, even lined up an exit strategy if MI6 should choose to turn on their former agent. As it turned out, M was only too pleased to welcome Bond back into the service. Maybe mostly because M could reinstate Bond in absentia, avoiding the inevitable smugness Bond undoubtedly would exude.

Moneypenny was the last one to know and she was furious, giving Q the scolding of his lifetime. His escape was in the form of a distress signal from Bond, demanding Q's attention there and then, leaving Moneypenny at her desk planning out her revenge, no doubt.

Once again Bond had most certainly succeeded in turning a mission into a lesson on destruction and the art of improvisation for escaping certain-death situations. As much as Q had loathed listening to Bond seducing Madeleine, he did secretly enjoy leading Bond, anticipating the enemy's next move and Bond's response while looking for possible makeshift weapons or hiding places in Bond's path. This, this was Q's reason for being the quartermaster, for being the guiding voice in Bond's ear piece, competent and foreseeing, in control of the situation even as another building was reduced to dust in a spectacular explosion.

In the end, Bond brought down the last remnants of Spectre. Olivia's legacy had made it possible, giving Q access to the very beginning of the organisation and the people behind. An organisation which had threads up into the highest parts of the British government, honed and developed through several generations of criminal endeavours. How Madeleine even could begin to think she could use this group for any good was entirely beyond Q.

The final meeting of Spectre took place in Switzerland. Bond killed off most attendees, creating a minor international incident with the Swiss authorities who weren't too pleased by the amount of dead bodies piling up around him. Madeleine herself was put in custody, suffering a major breakdown when she was sent back to London. Bond hunted down the last two mercenaries in Ukraine, before he could board an ordinary scheduled flight back from Kiev.

Q had filled out most of the paperwork before he called it a night. He couldn't remember when he had last been at home, let alone slept. He was sure Mrs Turner had abducted the cats, finally succeeding in keeping them at her place. He was too tired to bother when he climbed the stairs, clinging onto the banister to drag himself up to the next steps. When he opened the door to his flat, he briefly wondered about the lights being on. As knackered as he felt, he just threw his jacket on the floor and toed off his shoes. He just about made it to the sofa, where he unceremoniously threw himself onto the cushions and fell asleep.

Thus, he didn't hear or see Bond watching him from the kitchen and then walking silently towards him, carefully taking off his glasses, tucking him in under a few blankets and making sure to turn down the lights. With a content smile, Bond sat down in the arm chair next to the sofa, letting his hands trail softly through Q's hair.

When Q woke up next day somewhere around early afternoon, the smell of freshly-made tea and scones greeted him. Without a second thought, he turned on the sofa to put on his glasses, lying right where he definitely hadn't left them the night before. He frowned, realising that Mrs Turner was not someone who would make a complimentary breakfast or afternoon tea. It took another minute or two for him to realise that Bond was standing at the open kitchen door with an affectionate smile on his face, a ghastly apron on, hands holding a tray with Q's heirloom tea set on it. The scent was mouthwatering and Q's stomach made itself heard with a loud growl.

"Not much of a morning person, are we?"

Bond stepped into the living room and set the tray on the coffee table in front of Q, after clearing a few of Q's gadgets away. A sleepy yawn and something like tea was all the conversation skill, Q offered at the moment. Digging himself out of the blankets, Q kept one of them draped over his shoulders. His sleep-mussed hair and wrinkled clothes made Bond's heart clutch. He sat down beside Q and started feeding him small pieces of scones with a generous amount of clotted cream, handing out the cup of tea whenever Q made a small motion towards it. Q leaned into Bond, nuzzling against his shoulder and opening his mouth every time Bond proposed another piece of scones. The cream was sliding down Q's chin, and, catching it with his tongue, Q looked at Bond and winked. Bond took the hint and leaned in for a kiss. Q went pliant under Bond's hands and mouth.

Tentative at first, seeking permission and reestablishing their connection, Bond started to undress Q. Soft skin was touched with calloused fingers, Q shivering under the ministrations, watching Bond's progress with wide eyes. His lips were parted, again and again inviting Bond to stop, nip and lick at flushed, red flesh offered — shared between them. They were taking and giving, entwining their bodies with each other, moving in unison without hesitation acting and reacting to the needs, wants of the other.

The confidence in Q's caresses left Bond breathless. Q knew how to take control like he so often did with Bond. He used their bodies to bring them to the edge, leave them on the very brink of the climax, only to pull them back, both whimpering with the need to feel the other, to lose themselves in the arms of each other. Bond felt an almost tangible desperation creep in on him when Q moved away from their spot on the sofa, standing in the middle of the room utterly unselfconscious about his nudity. He beckoned to Bond.

"Let's move this into the bedroom, James."

Bond divested himself from the rest of his clothes and the blankets tangled around him. Q let his eyes roam appreciatively over Bond's body. A few bruises and several old scars were visible, but Q's gaze lingered telling on Bond's groin. Well endowed and very _interested_ , he thought with a smirk. He turned and ran, followed by Bond who caught him just in front of Q's neatly-made bed.

They threw themselves onto the unused bedsheets, dust swirling in the sunlight around them. Laughing at each other like two teenagers, they grew still when their eyes met. They both saw the question, the doubt in the other.

 _Do we have a future,_ together _?_

Bond nodded and Q mouthed a yes before their lips met once more in a searing kiss. The interruption was soon forgotten. This time, they held each other close, their arousal palpable between them, their motions becoming frantic, erratic. Together, they came; together, they lay in each other's arms, getting their breaths back; together, they eventually fell asleep, oblivious to the mess around them, on them.

And together, they woke up early the next morning. Bond got up and out of bed first, Q refusing to budge despite feeling sticky and in dire need of a bath. Somehow, Q made it into the bathroom and they had their first kerfuffle under the shower. Q complaining about getting a cold back, then complaining about water in his eyes, shampoo in his ears — and then Bond had it. He pushed Q up against the cold tiles, having him squeak before letting his eyes roam predatorily over the naked body in front of him, having Q shiver with anticipation. Taking hold of Q's wrist, Bond held him pinned against the wall. Then Bond hesitated and Q huffed, dragging one leg up and ankling it behind Bond's back, drawing him closer, before anchoring himself on Bond with his other leg.

"Take me," he whispered under the spray of water, tilting his head to the side, offering his neck to Bond. And Bond took. Q let him have his way, opened up, bid him welcome. Hard thrusts and forceful hands made good use of the willing body clinging to Bond. Without a second thought his kisses turned into love bites, sucking, biting. Q surrendered himself, moaning, writhing in Bond's hold, enticing him to go further, to let go of any inhibitions. Bond came with a drawn out growl, followed by a quiet sigh from Q who slumped in on himself, contented and satisfied. He ended up being carried out of the shower, rubbed dry and placed in the armchair, fresh towels draped around his body. He was half asleep again, lulled into this peaceful state of mind by the domestic noises coming from the kitchen. Bond was preparing breakfast and the smell of toast, coffee and tea wafted through the flat.

Their peace was broken a few hours later. Bond was summoned back to head quarter's, his report to M long awaited. With a huff, Q watched him getting ready to leave.

"I'll be back in a few hours, love."

Q smiled over the endearment.

"James," he called out just when Bond was opening the door.

"Kiss me," Q said as Bond turned towards him, "hard before you go."


End file.
